Blood And Warm Blankets
by Kielle
Summary: Eomer and Faramir are trapped in a nefarious web of (*gasp*) slash cliches! Light metahumor.


Blood And Warm Blankets  
By Kielle (kielle@subreality.com)  
  
DISCLAIMER: Recognizable characters etc. belong to JRR Tolkien, though most of the settings described herein would probably make his head explode. Except Legolas/Gimli. I *know* the old rascal meant *that* one.  
  
RATING: PG-13 for humorous sexual innuendo. I wonder if this counts as my first slash piece. Hmm. You be the judge. *wink*  
  
This is pure make-my-friends-laugh metafic fluff and is not to be taken seriously. It is not intended as a negative swipe at slash except in a playful way. In fact, do you know how hard it is to come up with good reasons to *not* throw some of these characters at each other?!  
  
Any resemblance to any other story is purely coincidental. I just whipped up a quick cliché and wrote it for fun, and I picked these two characters because I love 'em. Feedback is adored (ain't it always?) but please don't archive without my permission (not like it's hard to get, just ask!). My other Tolkienfic, most of which is more serious, can be found either here on FF.net or at the Twelfth Ring (http://www.subreality.com/ring12.htm).  
  
PS: This is not a SockPuppet story (http://www.mespt.com). However, if you catch the sidelong SockPuppet references in here, you need a life as badly as I do...  
  
[ FF.Net Note: I can't get this damn thing to load properly in HTML format. *tears hair* If you want it all pretty like that, visit the Twelfth Ring -- otherwise, below, ** = italics. ]  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
"This is going to end in sex, isn't it."  
  
Eomer paused and glanced quizzically back over his shoulder. "That's a strange thing to say. What brought that on?"  
  
"Oh come now, can't you see we've been cornered by every cliché in the figurative book?" Faramir shifted the blanket around his bare shoulders and held up one hand, ticking off fingers. "We're stranded in the middle of nowhere, alone, after dark, in a storm. We've taken shelter in a small cave, our clothes are soaked so we *have* to strip them off, we're probably going to 'have to share body heat to survive the night,' and let's not even get into the fact that last beast tore my arm wide open--"  
  
  
"Tsk. It's not that bad, and you're being paranoid."  
  
"I am *not*. I'm bleeding like a stuck pig. I'm going to be in bad shape unless you bind it up, and where there's wound-binding in isolated caves there is always, and I do mean *always*, sex before sunrise. Count on that. I'm the one who knows how to read, remember. Happens all the time."  
  
The Rider sighed and crouched down next to him. He'd finished tearing his undertunic into crude bandages and had a bowl of rainwater in hand. There was no second blanket, but he was quite calm stripped down to his soggy britches. "I'm not going to ignore all that blood, so calm down and hold still. Sorry. This *will* hurt." Faramir hissed at his somewhat rough touch -- to distract him from the pain, Eomer added conversationally, "So, how's my sister?"  
  
"Oh, uh, fine. She's fine. Married life suits her, actually, and my men adore her. How's my cousin?"  
  
"Lothiriel? She misses Dol Amroth, but that's to be expected. She likes horses well enough, which surprised me at first until I recalled that she's a knight's daughter." Eomer lost his grip on Faramir's arm for the third time and sighed in exasperation. "Would you stop wriggling? I'm doing my best, and I'm sure you've borne worse in a scrap with your brother."  
  
Faramir muttered something incomprehensible but flinched away a fourth time. With a resounding clatter of wood on stone, Eomer slammed the bowl down. "For Bema's sake, I am *not* going to rip off that blanket and jump you like a randy stallion! You do read far too much, that's for certain. Besides, my sister would wring my neck." His grey eyes twinkled with merriment. "Or Elessar would have me gelded."  
  
"The king? What does he have to do with..." Faramir trailed off, round-eyed with astonishment. "Aragorn...and me? W-where did you hear that?!"  
  
"I know how to read myself, you know. Theoden picked up some strange Gondorian notions about education from his father -- there, done." One tug and the bandages cinched tight around Faramir's torn bicep -- an efficient field-dressing. "So what they say about the king and his favorite prince of Ithilien..."  
  
Faramir pulled his arm back under the blanket and shook his head so hard that wet hair slapped his cheeks. "Not true. I barely see the man nowadays, anyway. Where would I get the chance?"  
  
"There was all that time in the Houses of Healing."  
  
"Which I spent striving to get your sister to even *look* at me. Besides, he was too busy to bother seducing a mere steward's second son." Now it was Faramir's turn to cast a curious glance at his comrade. "But you -- they say you were like a shadow to him then..."  
  
Eomer tilted his head back with a roar of laughter. "Indeed! Perhaps if I'd wrapped myself in a map of Gondor and sprawled out across the strategy desk in his tent, and even then no! The poor man was in such a state over Lady Arwen...believe me, even if I hadn't myself been swamped under my own new crown responsibilities...no. It's just...no."  
  
The prince chuckled, relaxing a little as the pain ebbed and the conversation became amusing. "What about you and Gimli, then?"  
  
Eomer was grinning now. "What? Who said...no, no, don't answer. He's a good man, er, dwarf, but humans are not to his taste and the children of Aule are not to mine. Your turn. Imrahil?"  
  
Faramir spluttered. "My uncle? A man nigh my father's age? He still treats me like a child. I think it's all he can do to keep from ruffling my hair. All right then -- no disrespect meant, but...Theodred?"  
  
"Dear 'Dred? Hmm. Tempting, to be fair -- were I female and not his cousin twice over. If we're going to be comfortable enough to go *there*, my friend, then...what of your famed affection for your brother?"  
  
Cheeks flaming, Faramir shook his head again. "I loved Boromir, 'tis true, and he cared deeply for me, but..."  
  
"Your father wouldn't have let either of you live had there been more to it, I wager."  
  
"Exactly. And for pity's sake, man, he was my brother!"  
  
Eomer laughed. "Oh come now, that doesn't necessarily mean--"  
  
"Yourself and Eowyn, then."  
  
"?! No."  
  
"Never?"  
  
"Of course not! She's my sister!"  
  
"And Boromir was my brother."  
  
Eomer ducked and rubbed the back of his neck, flushing. "I take your point. I apologize. I did not mean to drive the jest too far."  
  
Uncomfortable silence threatened until Faramir ventured (with the most angelic of expressions), "I will admit that my brother was an attractive man if you will admit that you at least once attempted to catch your sister at her bath."  
  
Eomer bridled, but the color in his cheeks above his beard betrayed him. "Ah...why, how could I speak so rudely of your lady wife...ohhh, very well. You've seen her, man. Any boy would."  
  
"You were lucky to have such a lovely sister."  
  
"You were lucky to have such a handsome brother."  
  
Faramir could not resist. "Then what they say of you and he..."  
  
"Oh? More rumor, I'm afraid. I knew him only from afar. A king's young sister-son is not privy to war councils, and that was all we ever saw of him in the Mark. I admired him, yes, but from afar."  
  
"Hmmm. What of he and Aragorn, then?"  
  
"I cannot say. I never knew them together, but I would suppose not. They did not know each other for long, and from what I hear they were not the best of friends until it was far too late." Eomer noted approvingly that Faramir looked better now, warmed by the fire and well-bandaged, and he sought other rumors to bandy about. "What of Aragorn and the elf, Legolas? A deep tale seems to lie between them."  
  
"I know as little as you, there. But surely no wild tale is as ridiculous as that of dwarf and elf?"  
  
To Faramir's surprise, Eomer's cocky smile froze. "Ah. **cough** Actually..."  
  
"You must be joking."  
  
"No, I'm not."  
  
Faramir was briefly struck dumb. Then he ventured, "They say you learn something new every day, and I suppose that's true. The tales say elves never stray outside their own kind except in legend, but within my own lifetime it happens twice..."  
  
"Not three times?"  
  
"You know of another?"  
  
"I heard..." Eomer shook his head. "No. I can see now that it wasn't true."  
  
"What? *What* wasn't true?"  
  
"Ah...yourself and Haldir of Lorien."  
  
Faramir's vocal loss was total this time, and Eomer smirked. "I see. I shall add that one to the 'highly unlikely' list, then."  
  
"I-I've never even met him!"  
  
"I've seen him a few times. You'd like him."  
  
"What does that matter? I can think of a dozen strangers I could think you'd appreciate, and that doesn't mean anything at all--"  
  
"Faramir--"  
  
"--this is getting completely out of hand! What's next? Me and, and, and, *Beregond*? Me and *Isildur*? Me and *Saur*--"  
  
"*Faramir, you're shouting!*"  
  
The prince subsided, panting and wild-eyed. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I just...I don't understand. I have a wife, I had my books...certainly I was no blushing virgin, but...really, now."  
  
"At least people *do* speak of you. I fear I shall fade from the tales entirely. At best, history may remember me only as the brother of brave Eowyn Wraithbane. Never mind that her 'bravery' was a lovesick suicide attempt more akin to a child's tantrum, if you ask me."  
  
"Hah! I wouldn't repeat that where she could overhear it."  
  
"I trust you to keep my imprudent remark from leaving this cave, o best brother-in-law."  
  
"You have my oath. Although I have a feeling that, after tonight, other rumors shall reach my wife's sharp ears instead."  
  
"Oh...?"  
  
Wrapped only in his blanket, Faramir chewed his lower lip in the failing firelight. "As I said, our situation matches every such scandalous tale ever told. She'll never believe our protestations of innocence. In short: we're dead men."  
  
Eomer nodded pensively. "True."  
  
Both men stared thoughtfully into the embers for a few long companionable minutes. The rain still drummed outside; the night stretched out ahead of them, long and bitterly cold, but the cave was cozy.  
  
"So."  
  
"So."  
  
"Shall we?"  
  
"Shall we what?"  
  
"Shag like wild animals, of course."  
  
"Oh! Hmmm. May as well."  
  
  
.-= Finis =-. 


End file.
